


Masks

by neaf



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neaf/pseuds/neaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is still haunted by the ghosts of his home town, and Darren knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

> Fic for DFCR prompt winner, posted with permission.
> 
> Original Prompt: Chris is reminded of how awful he felt in school, something brings him down, and he struggles to stay strong. Darren empathizes and comforts him. Darren is affectionate while they're on set.
> 
> Set during Season 3, the Eric I refer to is regular Glee director Eric Stoltz.

Chris learned very young how important masks were.  
  
The mask of normalcy. The mask of nothing wrong. Faces he kept close at hand half the time out of habit, accumulated over the years. To show he hadn't faltered, to show he was unblemished by words. A smile to reassure, or a smirk to punch home a sharp comeback. They were all his treasured allies.  
  
Walking on set was like coming home, a sharp reversal of reality from his trip back from Clovis. It chipped away a little part of the tense, coiled up piece of him that always lingered after he'd been there. The bright colours and the sea of familiar crew faces, the equipment rattling past, every sound and scent like a blanket he could wrap himself in, safe from the digging reminder of what-was.  
  
He'd sat through their song scene, take after take, watching Lea belt out a perfect tune to the studio playback blasting from behind the cameras. They'd pushed on through Matt's dialogue, and Chris sat still in his chair, letting himself fade back down into the blissful retreat that was wearing Kurt Hummel.  
  
When the cast disappeared, he moved to his mark, scuffing the red tape with his shoe a few times to find his place as he always did. It was just his muscle-memory ticking away subconsciously, mapping the space and the angle of his body for the camera.  
  
He glanced up at Eric, who was leaning over Darren and gesturing instructions while Darren nodded quietly. When they moved in to place, and action was called, the words came like they were his own.  
  
The argument wasn't meant to be harsh - it played out like a bickering married couple warring over dishes. If dishes were solos.  
  
"I'm just," Darren's eyes fluttered closed, and he shook his head slightly. "Kurt," his eyes - _Blaine's_ eyes - locked on Chris. "I'm just trying to fit in here. It's new, and it's different, and I don't know what I _am_ here. I'm not a Warbler I'm-"  
  
Chris let his brow shoot up, let Kurt rise to the surface. "A loser?"  
  
Darren's face fell into the frustration only Blaine wore.  
  
"Like the rest of us?"  
  
"You know that's not what I meant."  
  
"You knew this was going to be different," Chris intoned seriously. "You knew when you came here, you'd have to fight."  
  
Darren flinched at the word, a tiny flash in his face that was gone in an instant and was perfectly played. Chris felt something nervous hit his stomach.  
  
He shook it off in a split second, his expression unchanging from Kurt's serious stare as he closed in and lifted both hands while he spoke. "You have to stop believing that you can't _fight_. Because you and me both know better."  
  
Darren's throat flashed in the light as he swallowed, and the fear he kept behind his eyes was stunning up close. Chris wondered absently how the boy he'd seen through the glow of a laptop screen so many years ago was the same man standing in front of him.  
  
"Kurt," he said softly, his voice almost cracking. "I don't," he sighed. "I wish I knew how to make this work."  
  
Chris let his brow draw together. "It is working. What are you talking about?"  
  
Darren let Blaine's expression slip into confusion. "But... you're pissed. This whole thing, fighting over solos, it's -"  
  
He dipped his head expectantly. "Exactly what you're supposed to be doing."  
  
Blinking, Darren pulled back a touch. "I don't get it."  
  
Chris let an amused expression of realisation wash over his features before he got out his next line of dialogue. "Oh my god, you thought I was mad because you're competing for solos?"  
  
Darren shrugged bodily, hand coming up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Well... yeah?"  
  
Chris felt Kurt's laugh rise up in his chest.  
  
"You're not?"  
  
Covering his mouth with his hands as he laughed softly, Chris shook his head.  
  
The embarrassed smile Darren found was nothing short of adorable. "You're mad because - I backed out. Of the solo competition. Because you thought I stopped fighting for it. When I," Darren managed to make it sound amusingly exasperated. "Backed out because I thought you were mad."  
  
Chris let his hands drop and he smiled at the man who played his boyfriend with a dizzying affection in his eyes. "You're an idiot."  
  
"I'm an idiot," he agreed around a soft, breathy laugh.  
  
Chris moved in closer on cue, reaching out for Darren's hands. "And I was never really mad. Were you mad?"  
  
"No, not really," Darren wore Blaine's warmest slightly-embarrased smile as Chris shifted closer, and squeezed his hands.  
  
They were supposed to kiss. He felt Darren's palms against his, felt the heat flush his cheeks when Darren's eyes dropped to his mouth more than once. Darren leant in, and pressed their lips together gently. There were hands on his waist, but his body stayed stiff and still against his will. Chris felt a quiet shock at the fact that his muscles seemed to lock, and Darren was barely kissing him at all now, tentative and strange.  
  
He heard the call for cut, and the whirr of the equipment re-setting. "Five minutes guys," someone called out, and Chris stepped switfly out of Darren's personal space.  
  
Like flicking a switch, Blaine was gone from his features and suddenly he was nothing but Darren again, his brow knitting together in amused confusion. "You alright, man?"  
  
Chris nodded, and there was one of his masks springing up, the smile of _I'm fine, nothing's wrong._  
  
Darren watched him carefully, head tilting just a fraction as his eyes fell to Chris's rigid shoulders and wandered back up. He didn't ask again, just considered quietly until they were directed back to their marks.  
  
Two more takes and every word felt as easy as it ever did. Every glance and expression came without pause, but the moment they pressed in, the kiss fell apart as Chris coiled tight. He screamed at his body, at the knots in his back and the ache in his neck and the impossible clench of his muscles that wouldn't go away no matter how hard he willed.  
  
As the crew shuffled around for yet another reset, he sat down in one of the choir-room chairs and tried to understand what kept going wrong. After a beat, he felt Darren's hand slip into his. "Chris, what is it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as he sat down beside him.  
  
Chris found his favorite fake smile again. "Rough night, sorry, I'll - I'm sorry."  
  
"Am I doing something?" Darren asked hesitantly, and Chris felt an ache in his chest at the unwavering concern in those eyes.  
  
He couldn't stop the sigh, or his eyes from falling shut. "No, god, no. It's been a rough couple of days. I'll get it this time around."  
  
"I thought you went home for the weekend?" Darren asked, confused.  
  
Chris swallowed hard, eyes searching for something to lock on that wasn't Darren's face. "I did," he said simply. "Clovis is... still Clovis."  
  
He didn't have to look to see the colour drain from Darren's face.  
  
Suddenly, something twisted in his gut. He felt naked, and real, and so far from Kurt Hummel all at once. His brain scrambled for the right mask.  
  
"I'm sorry, man, people are assholes," Darren said lowly, and there was an edge of anger to his voice that made Chris's brow quirk in surprise.  
  
"I'm fine," he lied smoothly.  
  
"You're not," Darren said matter-of-factly, his shoulders scooping into a shrug. "Or you'd be kissing me back."  
  
Chris froze. And there it was - exactly what had happened the last three takes, the reason it was all so wrong. Darren had kissed him each time, and he'd just _stood there_.  
  
He felt it rush up into his throat in a wave - everything he wanted to really talk about, everything he refused to. The taunts he never forgot, all the times he'd been told he wasn't good enough for this, for anything, or anyone. All the times he'd been told he'd never actually be kissed by anyone, not really. Not unless they had to, from the pages of a script.  
  
He'd pushed it away, locked it back in a part of himself he'd managed to keep shut until he saw that familiar face on a street of his home town just two days before. The sneer was gone, replaced by a sloping mouth set in a permanent frown, but still the same boy who'd tortured him half his young life.  
  
One second, one flicker of recognition seeing that face and the box was open.   
  
Darren watched his expression change over every memory, maskless and open for the first time in a long time. The panic that had gripped him and threatened to flood to the surface flashed and dissipated like a lightning strike the moment he felt a warm hand on his knee, thumb stroking at his leg gently. He looked down at it, stunned.  
  
He knew Darren was still watching him, still waiting patiently. The cameras skittered across the room, lining up Chris's side of the scene.   
  
He realised he'd been holding his breath, and let it out shakily, embarrassed.  
  
Darren didn't pull his hand away. Without knowing what possessed him to do it, Chris felt his body sway and lean into Darren's shoulder, resting there like it was the only thing keeping him up. His back ached, his body still stiff and clenched tight.  
  
He felt Darren's face press to the side of his head, and the hand lift off his knee. Darren spoke in a voice quiet enough for only the two of them to hear. "You've always got me, you know."  
  
Chris laughed at the sentiment. "You sound like Blaine."  
  
He wasn't sure, but it felt as though Darren pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Darren's voice was so soft Chris wasn't even sure if he heard him, or he imagined it. It was simple, and gentle, and asked for absolutely nothing.  
  
"I _am_ Blaine."  
  
There was a hand on his back, rubbing centle circles over his shirt, and his brain fired with deja vu. The cold cement of the McKinley steps set, a school uniform, a red jacket. The crash of metal mesh. A hand on his back, rubbing comfortingly, that wasn't supposed to be there.  
  
On his shoulders, on his arm, wrapped around him so many times in real life and never on the page. Chris's eyes prickled with the need to cry, the sudden rush of stinging sensation that he pushed away instantly - but his throat still burned with the realisation and just what it meant.  
  
He wondered how many times Blaine had touched him with Darren's hands.  
  
When a voice called them to their marks, he felt the hand fall away from his back, the warmth pull from his side. Stunned, he looked up nervously, wondering how many people had seen.  
  
 _Enough now,_ he told himself, and lined his body up like an instrument. _It's Kurt's turn, for awhile. Let it be._  
  
The dialogue was heavier, this time. Fell from him just as simply, but with a new kind of gravity as he watched Darren's eyes, and he knew.  
  
For someone who wore everything he felt on his face, Darren had learned quickly how to read people who didn't. People like Chris.  
  
This time, when Darren kissed him, the world fell apart.  
  
Everything inside him caved in, uncoiled and relaxed as he melted against Darren's body and kissed him back hard.  
  
He felt every muscle unwind with a surge of something exquisite, unnamed, and entirely new. Darren held him tight and kissed him open, passionate and slow, like he was memorising the body under his hands and mouth. Like he'd never be allowed to touch Chris again.  
  
They both stopped in unison when cut was called, bodies still clinging together and both staring at the other in surprise.  
  
Darren's eyes flicked down to Chris's mouth for a moment, and his tongue flashed over his lip absently.  
  
"Take ten minutes, guys," Eric called out, a knowing smile just barely tugging at the edge of his mouth.  
  
They split apart quickly, both nodding and falling back into well practiced professionalism.  
  
At the first opportunity, Chris slipped out into the set hallway, feet clattering against the glossy floor in his boots.  
  
"Chris? Chris wait!" Darren called after him, flying down the hallway in a panic.  
  
Chris spun and almost fell back as Darren rushed up to him too quickly, arms up and frantically apologetic. "I'm sorry, I just-"  
  
"That wasn't Blaine, that was you," Chris said flatly, watching for Darren's reaction.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Chris, look, I- I shouldn't have done that," he was gesturing rapidly, eyes flashing with fear. "I didn't mean to make this worse, I don't know what I was doing, I'm a fucking idiot."  
  
Chris measured him carefully for a moment, and felt a pang of envy. How freeing it would be, to feel everything. To show everything. To be able to hold your heart out in front of you in every act and still be so beautiful.  
  
Somehow, he realised, he knew all along that Darren would probably wander to the ends of the earth with nothing but a guitar strapped to his back and candy in his pockets for love.  
  
"When I was growing up," Chris said slowly. "There was a kid who never left me alone. He was - well, vastly uncreative - but also vicious. The things he'd tell me over and over," he had no idea where the words were coming from, but somehow a stillness had settled over him, a calm that radiated through him as he spoke. "The usual things. But also the things that you can't help but let in, no matter how strong your shield is. That I was _worthless_. Well, that one, I held on to for a long time. But I got past it the first time someone told me I saved them," he said softly.  
  
There were tears welling in Darren's eyes, a glitter there he hadn't seen before.  
  
"That I was _unwanted_ ," Chris continued. "That one - that one took a little longer, but then I found this place, these people," he gestured to the hall. "My family. And finally, that nobody would ever kiss me without being told they had to. Pages of a script and all that."  
  
Darren was staring at him, breathing through his mouth, stunned and lost for words. There was a kind of sadness in those eyes that Chris could feel down to his bones.  
  
"I never told anybody that before," Chris admitted with the barest of smiles. "But in there? What just happened? I can't - you can't do that."  
  
Darren's breath caught in his throat.  
  
"When you're him, we act it out. Kurt and Blaine, they can kiss, that's not a problem for me," Chris said, his voice dropping lower. "But if you care about me at all... if... if _you_ kiss me - you have to _mean it_."  
  
He'd barely let the words slip out before Darren's hands cupped his face and drew him in. The kiss was deep, hard and just as passionate as the last, lingering in slow swaps of tongue and soft lips, and fingers that brushed back through Chris's hair. A shiver of perfect, sweet sensation rippled up his spine as Darren pressed their bodies together and they stumbled back into the lockers.  
  
When Darren pulled away his eyes were heavy, half-lidded and dark, and staring straight into him like a promise.  
  
Chris stared back, wide-eyed, breathless and unable to move.  
  
Darren's hands kept cradling his face, warm and still, like he never wanted to let go.  
  
"I've always meant it."


End file.
